


Come On Up to the House

by Brennik



Category: Orange is the New Black
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-07
Updated: 2014-11-07
Packaged: 2018-02-24 11:37:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,368
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2580080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Brennik/pseuds/Brennik
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU. <br/>Piper is out on furlough and decides to visit someone in Queens.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story has been on my mind ever since s02e09. I needed for this to exist, and my direction with this story may not be what many of you would appreciate, in which case, have a little patience.
> 
> Title is the Tom Waits song playing during the bridge scene, and while I wrote this.

The light wind is cool and welcoming against my cheek as I walk towards the train station. Nice to see you old friend, I think, leaning into it. With every caress I remember our multiple previous rendezvous when I would go out running. I've missed you.

As I get on the train and take a seat that faces the window looking out at the world, I can't help but smile at the stranger sitting in front of me. Her expression barely changes and she turns away and I feel taken aback by the fact that I'm taken aback. All around me, people sit, with bored faces, tired faces. Not everyone has been locked up in prison for the past seven months. They don't appreciate this night like you do.

There's a lot I've learned about freedom lately. Freedom is relative; arbitrary even. It depends just as much on the physical walls people lock you up in as the mental ones you build up around yourself.

I am happy for Cal, he looked content tonight… A kind of contentment that comes from being true to yourself and I want that. All those people, looking at me with pity, with the "you'll put this behind you" looks, what they don't understand is that this is who I am. Their expectations for me to be someone I'm not, well that's just a whole different kind of imprisonment. Expectations and freedom don't go hand in hand. When you're always supposed to be doing this or saying that how the fuck can you ever feel free enough to be who you really are?

So I had to get out of there. I had to leave. The train stops, I get off and out on the platform, I look down on the wrinkled piece of paper in my hand. Eleven blocks from where I am. My heart thuds loudly in my chest as I start walking, anticipation and a certain kind of fear seeping in my blood. Freedom is scary. At least with restrictions, a small part of me argues, there is some semblance of control, safety… boundaries. When those boundaries are crossed, when that control dissipates, there's nothing stopping you from free falling, is there?

The look on Cal's face hits me again, and my stride gains strength. It's the right thing to do. No, I shake my head. Fuck the right thing, it's the only thing that I want to do. It won't be pretty, and it won't be comfortable.

Happiness and freedom have nothing to do with each other. Happiness is a small bubble that can burst at any moment. Look too hard at someone, or think too much about something and pop! There goes happiness with its tail between its legs, out the back door like a fucking coward. No. To be really free, you need passion.

I check the piece of paper again against the smoky black number painted on the building door. Yep, it's the right building. I climb the 2 steps leading to the door, take off my heels, walk up the three flights of stairs and there I am, standing in front of the door.

So passion. When you find that one person you never have to pretend for, you don't try to hide any emotion, you don't try to be someone you're not… you're not suddenly cured of all your fucked-upness. This person just doesn't give a crap, they take you in, all of you in, and just let you be. You find that perfect balance of passion and freedom they call love. A certain independence within that codependence.

I'm looking for that tonight. For someone to look at me, and just take me in for exactly who I am. The good, the bad and all the in-betweens. I take a deep breath and rap on the door thrice.

/

I don't rush to answer the door these days, and I wouldn't have bothered this time either, except I was already up, refilling my unknown number of glass of wine. Glass in hand, I figure I'll just take a peek. I tread lightly on my feet, which is a little hard to do seeing as I'm more than a little tipsy, and just as I'm about to get a look, there comes the knock again. I scowl at the door. Someone's annoyingly insistent tonight.

"Alex?" My name floats through the door and I realize I've just said that out loud. Hard to keep track of things like that when you've been alone too long. But wait… that voice.

My hand flies to the million locks that won't be any good if the situation calls for them, and turn the knob without another thought. The door opens and I'm face to face with a certain blonde that has no business being here, really. I've surely gone out of my fucking mind. I have. I'm hallucinating a breathtakingly beautiful Piper, standing in the shithole of a hallway outside my shithole of an apartment in a black dress with sexy stockinged legs and smoky eyes, with her shoes dangling off of her fingers.

Her eyes flicker behind me to the inside of the apartment and then back at me. "Do you have company? I mean I'd offer to come another time but, y'know…" she trails off, her lips turning up into a ghost of a smile and a laugh slips out of my lips.

"Are you real?"

Her expression changes to something that sends shivers all over my body. She moves forward, as if in slow motion, over the threshold and right up close to me, so close that I can feel the warmth of her body and the booze on her breath. Or maybe it's mine. One hand, one solid, very life-like hand comes up to cup my cheek and, the other rests against the small of my back, the heels of her shoes digging in my skin and she presses her lips firmly against mine. Before I can register it, let alone react to it, she pulls back, "real enough for you?"

I nod dumbly, the feel of her lips seared onto mine, and close the door behind her as she moves past me, dropping her shoes next to the wall that she caresses with her fingers, taking in the place. She walks into the kitchen and eyeballs the bottle of wine. I get out a glass and start to pour, keeping my hand light.

"Say when."

"When," she says when the glass is nearly brimming with the golden liquid. "Thanks." She takes it and moves on towards what barely passes as my living room these days. After a furtive glance at the couch I remain standing by the entrance.

"So, wait, how are you…?"

She looks over her shoulder at me. "Furlough. My grandmother died." She says without any inflection, her voice flat. But I know how close they were and that there must be plenty brewing beneath the stoicism.

"Celeste?" Piper hums in assent, glancing over my meager book collection. "Shit, Pipes. I'm sorry."

She lifts her shoulders in a shrug but before they can fall back down, she squares them, tilts her head and says, "The famous Alex catch phrase." Ah, the passive aggressive Piper. How I've missed her.

Piper ambles over to the window and peers outside, around the sheet.

"How're you dealing with it?" I ask, studying her. She doesn't answer me, but instead continues to look out the window. Piper feels a little different; there's something about the way she holds herself, that has nothing to do with the wine in her hand that is so alluring- well more alluring than Piper always has been to me. Her hold on me is mystifying and frustrating and intoxicating. But tonight, she seems open, in spite of her stubbornness, fearless and vulnerable all at the same time.

"Do you wanna talk about it?"

She takes a healthy mouthful of the wine and saunters over to me, her movements slightly exaggerated. "How is it that you have wine glasses but no curtains?"

She places her glass behind me on the waist-high shelf and effectively traps me against it with other hand ghosting over my hip. My eyes take in hers, as they journey to my lips, making her intentions very clear.

Intoxicating.

She runs her hand over my cheek, through my hair. "Soft. Like your resolve when you were offered a plea deal."

I try very hard not to roll my eyes. "Piper…" before I can continue, she brushes her lips against mine, the softest of kisses, as if testing the waters, as if it were our first time. She leans back and regards me, with unadulterated desire on her face.

"Alex."

"We shouldn't… I mean-" I'm trying, really, to act the responsible adult here, but when she looks at me like that, I know this isn't just the alcohol talking, she needs me.

"We shouldn't, I can't, this isn't right, I haven't showered today…" she smirks at me, though it doesn't quite reach her eyes. "Got any more?"

My hands trail over her arms around me, up to her shoulders, her neck. I push back hair from her face, lightly threading my fingers through the blonde locks at the nape of her neck and meet her halfway as she crashes her lips onto mine. It's not a pretty kiss; it is sloppy and wild, our teeth knock painfully, tongues battling for dominance, my glasses colliding against the bridge of my nose and we steal the breath out of the other. I feel Piper everywhere; I'm overwhelmed as my senses come alive; Piper's everywhere. One of her hands grips my ass, pulling me closer to her, a sigh escaping her as our bodies come flush against each other's. Her scent pervades my entire being and I try to inhale as deeply as I possibly can while already being short of breath.

I reach down to grab her by the back of her thighs and lift her up, her legs hooking up behind me as my eyes become level with her neck and her chest. Turning around, I back her up against the wall and it registers somewhere in my lust filled stupor that I may have slammed her too hard as she lets out a groan.

"Sorry, sorry…" I manage to get out as I messily make my way down her buttery skin, throwing in kisses and licks and nips at whatever skin is exposed to me. There's a slit in the dress at the centre of her chest that I bury my nose in but it's not enough for me.

Flat surface, flat surface, flat surface! As if reading my mind, Piper pushes off the wall and I stumble backward, balancing Piper's weight against mine as she captures my lips in another kiss. Coffee table! No, couch. Blindly retreating, I settle down with a loud thump on the couch, Piper ending up straddling me. She continues pushing into me, her hands somehow underneath my shirt, as she lays soft bites onto my ear lobe.

"Dress. Off." She commands, sending a jolt straight to my centre and I hasten to comply.

I try to pull the dress off her shoulders but it's too tight. My fingers still clawing at her stockings, I'm still trying to figure out the workings of her fucking dress, when I feel her back shudder rhythmically and at first I think she's laughing at me for being so slow. I lean away from her, fully intent on justifying myself and blaming her impossible outfit when I see she's crying.

"Pipes. Talk to me." I hold her face in my hands, wiping away her tears with my thumbs but they just don't run out. She can't talk, her eyes tell me, and I nod and pull her to me, expecting resistance, but she yields and I close my arms around her.

/

I don't know if it's the way she's looking at me, or the way her hands feel against my skin- warm and consoling- or that I knew coming here would finally allow me to lose control, or a combination of all these and more reasons that I find myself breaking down. She pulls me to her, the slightest tug, and I'm sobbing into her soft cotton shirt. She holds me, her strong, sure hands kneading my back, her cheek resting against my hot forehead, murmuring words of comfort. I can't even hear them, let alone make sense of them, but her voice vibrates against my ears, the low, husky tone, and that is all I need.

When was the last time I gave into my feelings like this? With Larry? No. I was always in control; there was always a part of me he couldn't reach because I never gave it to him. I think back to my childhood, trying to remember moments of vulnerability but other than grandma and cal, nothing comes to mind. Even then, the ways of our parents were so well ingrained in us; all we could do was to glance fleetingly at what we were feeling before turning a stony face away. Feelings were to be swept under the carpet, emotions weren't dealt with, they were hidden, away with the rest of our ugliness. And where did that leave us? With hollow caricatures, instead of humans to call a family.

It's ironic really, that I find this openness with a drug smuggling lesbian, an ex convict who personally went and landed me in prison. My sobs die down as I pull back to look at her. Her cheek has turned red where it touched me, her glasses a little lopsided, the shoulder of her shirt stained dark with my tears and snot.

"Sorry about that."

"S'okay." Her eyes convey nothing but concern and love and I can feel them pulling me in. she has always had this effect on me. I used to think it'll lessen with time, as the exciting phase of our relationship wound down but it never did. Here it is, strong as ever. "Do you wanna talk now?"

"Yes." She nods and I extricate myself from her embrace, trying and failing to create a safe distance between us as her hand crawls over to cover mine. She's looking at me with those stupid persistent green eyes, so I close mine so I can keep my head and not be willing to forgive and forget the whole thing. I fill my lungs in deep and what comes out is, "So, in your letter, you claimed you tried to ask if I could get the same deal you got but, what you fail to explain is why after you coach me in exactly what to say in my testimony, you suddenly do an about-face and say the exact opposite thing."

When Alex doesn't respond, I open my eyes to look at her and she's wearing an amused expression. "Did you rehearse that?" I just stare at her, willing her to be serious.

She looks away, sighs before turning back to me. "Look Piper, I was facing more time than you. My lawyer told me that my testimony would put Kubra away. For sure. And that I could walk, that same day. So I told the truth." Her eyes narrow. "I thought you were going to tell the truth!"

So that's how we were playing it? "And I thought you were going to lie!" this woman exasperates me like no one else.

Her hand pulls away from mine as she gestures to the heavens, "Jesus. We're like a fucking O. Henry story." Great. She pulls out a literary reference at the drop of a hat. Why doesn't she just slay me? As soon as she says it, my face betrays me and twitches into a smile that she mirrors.

Our hands meet again, and I'm surprised to see it's mine that reaches for hers this time.

"You have every right to be angry." Her thumb maps the contours of my knuckles.

"I don't know if I'm angry." And I'm not. Not when she's here in front of me, not when her hand on mine alone can make me feel so many feelings. "I'm confused…by you."

She snorts. "I'm confused by me too. I'm pretty much the master of handling things completely wrong."

"Yeah well that's an understatement." I can't help keep the bitterness out of my voice.

Alex's expression contorts and she opens up, letting her smugness fall away like a heavy curtain. "I'm a fuck up. I know I've said this to you many times but I am sorry, Pipes." Her eyes vacillate between mine, as if beseeching me to believe her. "For all of it."

I don't say anything because if I open my mouth my resolve is going to break. No physical distance I create between us matters. Not because she's charmed her way out of this, or because she's got a hold on me, but because I believe her. And I forgive her. It's as simple as that. But she continues, breaking me further.

"I know my track record is shit but I really do love you." Her voice falters a little as her eyes get moist, but there's no doubt in my mind that she means what she says. She says this upfront, with no hiding behind words, like before. She says this, without expecting a reply. Or perhaps, without needing one.

As one last ditch attempt I try to distance myself and blurt out, "Yeah well I hate you." Even though there's no conviction behind the words, I still curse myself as I wait for the hurt to show on her face but it never comes. She just smiles at me, her reply as quick and sure as a reflex.

"No you don't."

/

We lie in bed, talking late into the night. This is what it would feel like, I find myself thinking during a lull in our conversation, if it weren't for all the fucking drugs. We would come home after a long day of work, and after dinner we would stretch out, fill each other in, fall asleep holding hands.

We switch positions all through the night, trying to get closer and closer still; trying to absorb as much of the other as possible. Piper is currently nuzzling into my neck. It's slightly ticklish, but I haven't been held like this in a very long time so I just enjoy her warmth.

"I missed your smell so much," she murmurs and when I pull back to look at her in amusement, her expression tells me she didn't mean to say that out loud.

"Shut up," she says in response to my ever growing smirk. I clamp my mouth shut and kiss her forehead, feeling her smile against my skin.

The sun is beginning to show as the sky lightens, signaling the near end of Piper's visit. I'm propped up on an elbow in my bed that suddenly feels too big for me and watch Piper pull together the discarded items of clothing strewn across the room. Clad in her bra and lacy underwear, she's pulling on the stockings, one leg at a time and my eyes are following her hands as they cover up the flesh, hiding it from my view.

"What're you thinking?" I've been staring at her for a good ten minutes now, trying to memorize the way the muscles on her back ripple with movement; the way her eyes become small crescents and her nose crunches when she smiles; the way her hands move when she talks, signifying her proper and lady-like upbringing- something she just can't get rid of. And it's not enough, it'll never be enough.

I try to come up with a flip comeback but it seems stupid, given all that has happened tonight. I shake my head. "It's too soon. I don't want you to leave."

Her dress is up her torso, but hangs off of her shoulders, yet to be pulled up. Piper comes and sits next to me. Her eyes are clearer now, no indication she'd been crying before, as they gaze at me. Her fingers caress my lower jaw, trailing down to my throat. "I don't want me to leave either." Her face darkens, "back to Litchfield for me." The prison with its drab walls and the taupe uniforms and the shitty food is all too fresh in my mind to understand what Piper's thinking.

Pulling the sheets around me, I sit up and grasp her hand in between mine. "Eight more months, Pipes. Time will fly."

"Eight months," she repeats, coming back to me. "Who knows what new ways we'll find to fuck each other over by then." I chuckle as I pull her in for a kiss. "You'll come visit, right? I'll put you on my visitation list. And…" she hesitates, "wait for me, okay? I'll get out and then we'll…" she trails off, and her words open up a whole world of possibilities for us. And fears for me. Where will I be in eight months? "… We'll figure it out. Al?"

How I would love to promise the world to her. To guarantee that I will be there for her, without a doubt, that I will keep her safe. She sees it on my face before I can try and hide it. "Y-yeah. We'll figure it out."

"What aren't you telling me?"

"Nothing." I swing my legs so that she's sandwiched between them and I hug her around the centre, bringing her close into me. I kiss her bare shoulder. "You'll come out, I'll pick you up myself. We'll go hit every bookstore in the vicinity and get all the books we can get and head to the beach and read to our fucking hearts' content. You'll get tired though, and you'll tell me I'm a lazy coot. Not in those words exactly, but some passive aggressive shit only you can get away with."

I feel happy with myself as I feel a laugh rumble through her and her hand encircles my arm around my barbwire tattoo. The only one that got in, I think to myself. Placing my lips softly under her ear, I inhale that distinct Piper smell and I know what she meant before. I missed it too.

"Alex. Tell me." She turns around, her eyes boring into mine.

"He walked. Kubra," I say curtly.

"What?"

"There was a mistrial." I shake my head, brow furrowing at the memory of the courtroom and the judge's decision. "Some dumb fuck mishandled the evidence. He's out."

/

I have to go, it's time. We stand in her doorway, and I try to remember Alex as I see her, standing in her doorway with last night's shirt and pants hastily covering her body. She smiles for me, puts on a brave face. But inside I know she's breaking apart, and scared, and all I want to do is go back inside with her and fight whatever comes, together.

"Remember what I said about being your prison wife, Pipes. I don't wanna hear from Nichols that you've gone and set up camp with someone else," her trademark smirk is back.

"I love you." I lean in to kiss her.

"Look at that, she says it first for the first time. I love you too." She kisses me back and just like that I'm walking down the three flights of stairs and down the two steps out of her building.

Freedom is scary, I think, as I look around, trying to see if I can spot any suspicious looking cars or people hovering about. Of course, I don't see anything. I turn to look at the building, wondering if I'll see Alex looking down at me, but then I pray that she'll have the sense to stay away.

I have to go back to my walls, walls that have actually been keeping me safe, walls that I suddenly wish I shared with Alex, so they would keep her safe too.


	2. Chapter 2

Being associated with an international drug cartel is a lot like being in sales. It's about the product, it's about supply and demand, but most important of all, it's about the people. You're only as good as your last sale, your last customer. If they're not satisfied, you're out. Or worse. You have to be able to read people, assess their vulnerabilities, figure out what they want, all before you even introduce yourself. And then, you convince them that not only do they not want what they think they do, but that, you, the stranger who just sidled into the chair next to them, you have what they really need.

That's where your product comes in.

After I'm done with lunch, which was a sad little bowl of cornflakes, I place the dreg-filled bowl in the sink, and head over to the window. Kubra has placed his fucking minions outside my building, to watch over me, to scare me, to let me know they know where I am. I'm not scared, I'm fucking pissed. All I want to do is go out with a baseball bat and smash the windshield in. Maybe throw in a few punches. But that's what he wants; to get a rise out of me.

Being in control of your emotions is of utmost importance in sales… or the drug business. Emotion gets you in trouble, lets you down. Emotion takes away the precious time that could be going towards planning for counter strike.

My clothes have reduced down to a meager handful, the last of which I am currently folding into small squares. It's been a few months since Piper came to visit, and in the time since, we've talked on the phone a few times, and I went down to visit her a couple of times. The contact has dwindled to almost nothing since my last visit, mostly because Piper isn't an idiot, and she can tell I'm being distant. Of course, instead of asking me about it, she assumes…whatever she assumes about my life as a newly free woman, and she pulls back; afraid to get hurt.

It's hard to believe we're still playing games with each other. Like we have the rest of our lives to get our shit together. I scoff to myself, carrying the shirts to the suitcase that sits as a newly permanent fixture on my two-seater. Piper has always equaled emotion for me; love, hate, remorse, pleasure, contentment and everything else in between. Staying away from Piper means keeping my rationality alive.

And that's exactly why I've resisted the said smashing in of the fucking windshield.

And that's exactly how I've come up with a plan to get the hell out of here.

/

 

*Flashback*

When I figure out a way to side step Kubra's goons, I begin frequenting a local bar, not for the stimulating company by any means, but for the booze. Usually, a glass of chardonnay gets me through the night, but having just gotten off the phone with Piper, I needed a drink. Or two.

"I'm really fucking lonely, Pipes."

"Oh I'm sure you'll find someone to keep your bed warm."

"Fuck you. Is that what you're doing?"

Needless to say, that didn't go very well. All I need to do is get Piper out of my head. For tonight, at least.

The place is dimly lit; as usual, and crowded with mostly young women, too loud, shrill. As usual.

I pick a spot away from the din and order myself a whiskey, stiff. My mom always used to say I drink like a 60 year old man. Well I feel like I'm nearly halfway there ma, I think, tipping the glass slightly in a salute, if only you could see me now.

About a week ago, I began noticing certain women who would be seen here more frequently than others. Some of them would approach me, try to initiate a conversation, hardly ever with any fruitful results. My mind started working on a strategy before I could even ask myself, a strategy for what? I needed a ticket out of here, and somewhere in this far from fine establishment, odds were, I'd find it.

This woman leans in next to me, placing her glass on the dirty looking counter, and hops onto the stool next to me. I can feel her eyes on me as she plays with her glass, takes a sip, sets it down, plays with it again. I'm waiting for her to strike up a conversation so that I can say no, and get it over with, but she just sits and drinks and continues to stare at me. It's irritating and I scowl in her direction, hoping that that would scare her off.

She doesn't even flinch at having been caught staring.

"Can I help you?"

She doesn't reply immediately, the only response being a slight lift of her dark eyebrows. She's silent for a few more moments, allowing the sting to seep out of my words.

She takes another sip, slowly twirling the contents in her mouth before swallowing. "You can, by letting me buy you a drink." Her voice is lofty at places you wouldn't expect it, her words carrying a strange lilt.

I raise my almost full glass at her, telling her I don't need more, and I hope she gets the hint and leaves. A small part of me hopes she doesn't.

"I'll wait." She's turned her body towards me, and I can definitely feel the heat between us. "You know I don't think I've seen you here before." She leans forward, her leg brushing against mine, "what brings you here?"

I'm fully intent on telling her to leave me alone, but I make the mistake of looking her directly in the eye. Closer than before, I see they have flecks of green around the edges with a deep rich brown in the centre; a whole forest of secrets within those eyes, and I'm captivated. I see a twinkle in them, like she knows the effect she's having on me. Maybe it's the eyes, or maybe it's the fact that this is the first decent human contact I've had in months, the truth, or a part of it, comes bubbling forth.

"I'm looking to forget."

"Ah, but there are better ways of forgetting than drowning yourself in alcohol." There's a definite teasing edge in her tone, and I can't decide whether I like it or not.

"Yeah?" I pointedly down my drink in one go, immediately regretting my decision as I almost cough the burning liquid all back out. She just grins widely at me, and motions to the bar tender. He fills up my glass and she yells at him to put that on her tab.

Memories from another lifetime threaten to take over, so I force myself to look at this woman whose name I don't know yet.

"Thanks. I'm Alex."

Her smile, inexplicably, turns warm. "Valerie."

/

I read about this technique in a novel once, that they use in sales, called pacing. The conversational hypnosis. You start by listening, observing, paying attention to the little details. You look for tells, nervous tics. You let the other person think they're the ones leading the conversation, but really, you're just easing the steering wheel out of their hands, and, if you do it well enough, they let you. If they brush back a strand of hair, you wait 15 to 20 seconds, before brushing your hair back. If they cross their legs, you wait and mirror. It's a message to their subconscious, saying, hey, I'm on your side, nothing to be wary of. And pretty soon, you're in the driver's seat, and they'll go wherever you're taking them.

Reading people, I don't have to think about it, it's second nature to me. I look at someone, and they open up like a book to me. Sometimes the people are so boring, so dull, it's not even fun, but sometimes, if I'm lucky, I'll come across somebody with layers. Like a 5000 piece puzzle of the fucking sky, and my mind tingles with excitement.

Piper was a 5000 piece puzzle, and even though I have her figured out better than most people in her life, I have still to put together the complete picture.

Valerie, although not quite the same deal as Piper, is nonetheless a puzzle. She's here on some business and will be leaving soon. Which is perfect. No strings. We've been talking for a while now, length of three drinks and some shots of tequila, and I can't even recall how many times my gaze has slipped to her very low V neck. And every time, she blushes slightly and cuts her glance away.

After a while, as I raise my hand to order another drink, she grips it in hers and lowers it down. "There are better ways to forget, you know?" The statement is thick with suggestion, and you'd have to be a fucking idiot to not know what she means.

"Yeah? Like what?" I'm so drunk, my speech is starting to slur.

She leans in close and with her breath tickling my ear she says,

I wanna taste what you taste like.

I shake my head. No, that's not right. What she says is, "I could help you forget." I lean back to look at her, somewhat alarmed at the clarity of Piper's voice in my head, and all I can do is nod.

"My place is-"

She's shaking her head as she throws some money towards the barkeep. "I don't think I can wait that long."

Oh.

I let her lead me to the small bathroom near the back and into an even smaller stall. This is all too familiar; this isn't helping me forget at all. Flipping the questionable looking lock, she turns around and I slam her against the door, attacking her mouth with mine. She's surprised, and it takes her a moment to respond, but then her hands are in my hair, on my back, squeezing my ass, pulling me in.

It's just sex.

She tastes like peaches and it's over bearing. I break away from her but her hands are insistent.

It's just sex.

I watch through lust filled eyes as this woman in front of me falls apart, her arousal coating fingers. Her head falls back, neck exposed; I lean in for a bite. This could be Piper I'm nipping. Creating a vacuum on her pressure point and I almost convince myself it's Piper who gasps. Who grabs my hair and pulls me in for more.

"More," she breathes out.

More. I scissor my fingers inside her, her legs come up to cross behind my back, body arching into my touch.

It's just sex.

More. When she comes undone, it's beautiful. She's bruising her lip between her teeth, her face contorted in pure ecstasy, and as she's coming down from her high, as her eyes flutter open, her gaze focuses on me and I can't remember her fucking name.

It's just sex.

Before I can think too much about that, she's lowering her legs down from my waist, and snaking her hands between our nearly fused bodies. She pushes her fingers under my shirt. Instinctively, I suck in my belly as I feel her scrape down below my belt and I cry out as her fingers plunge into me.

It's been too fucking long. My body falls forward, hand splayed against the door, riding her fingers. I bury my head in the crook of her neck because I just need to feel, not to see or think.

It's just sex.

She adds her thumb to the mix, relentless, and I'm cross eyed with pleasure. She kicks at my leg, spreading me open further and I moan. I gasp.

I bite, and it could easily be Piper I'm nipping at.

It's just sex.

It's Piper. Piper's fingers are fucking me into oblivion. Piper's hand makes me buck into her, my hips crashing painfully into hers.

When I cum it's hard, and it's fast and it's gut wrenching.

/

*Cambodia flashback.*

I'm sitting on my stupid mattress-less frame of a bed, knowing how sore it's going to make me, but today's one of those days where I'd take any sort of physical pain over, well, what happened between me and Piper.

I love you Alex, I love you and I fucking hate you. Hate you. I can't stop her words from ringing in my ears. No matter how hard I focus on the book in front of me, I can't get her face out of my mind; the face that had that hatred etched so clearly on it.

Speak of the devil. She's standing at the entrance to my cubicle, like there's a fucking door between us, like we're two people not in prison, like we're two people with even a modicum of privacy between us; telling me I was right. Yeah, but about what? She tells me she's lost Larry, that it may be over between them.

So I was just a comfort blanket to her.

"Can I?" she gestures towards my bed. I give her a weird mix of a shrug and a nod and she sits next to me.

"So, all my cards are on the table. Everything. I'm an emotionally manipulative narcissist who bailed on you when your mother died."

Okay. Honesty. Let me have a go at it. "And I'm a ruthless pragmatist who sold you out and then lied about it. We suck."

She's looking at me, with that look. No.

"Kind of a relief, though, isn't it?"

Jesus. "My god, Piper. You're giving me whiplash here!"

She turns towards me, looking me straight in the eye. "I'm not fucking with you. I have ruined my life, twice, over you. So, what's the endgame here? When we get outta prison, what's the plan?"

Plan? I'm starting to sweat a little, so I blow her off with a joke.

"I'm being serious. Are you gonna get a job? Like a regular person? I mean I don't even know what that would look like."

No, she's not fucking with me. What she is doing is, trying to extract a promise from me. A lease. An insurance policy for when we get out, so she doesn't have to be alone.

In hindsight, here's what I should have done. I should have paced her, I should have turned towards her; I should have fucking opened up. I should have said, listen Pipes, I don't know how exactly, yet, but I'm at least fucking willing to make it work. I was a halfway decent human being, I should have reassured her, that even though I'm scared, we can try. That I can try.

But hey, I'm the asshole pragmatist. I convince myself that she's just using me, which may have been true on some level. I ignore the look in her eyes; I brush off her voice that's telling me to take her seriously. I snort at her; I tell her that I don't make plans. What a liar.

I basically tell her to take her dreams for the future and fuck off.

"If you wanna have babies, and remodel your bathroom, please go. Do. Nest. But if you want to do X on a beach in Cambodia with three strangers in drag…" right there, I see her shake her head; an infinitesimal movement, but I catch it. I can feel a splinter run along my heart at the look she's giving me. I want to stop. I want to say, hey wait, scratch that, let me start the fuck over. But I don't. I keep talking. I offer her a small smile. "I'm not saying it's gonna happen. But it might."

Because that's what people want, for the rest of their lives.

In hindsight, this right here, this is why she picked him. This is when she made her decision. I had made a career out of reading people and the resignation is etched on her face, mixed with disappointment, mixed with resolve, against me.

"I love Cambodia," she says, her eyes sad. What she's trying to say is that she loves me, but it's not enough, and I almost give in, I almost make her the stupid promise.

Right here is when she decides to marry him. Later, in the library, when she says she doesn't have the balls to free fall through life with me, I think she's wrong. I'm the one who's the coward here, not her.

She came in here, a future in her hands and asked me to take it. Instead I throw it back in her face. Fucking Larry would have never done that.

"Me too," I say. The only small comfort I can give her, I reach out and push my fingers through hers. I'm an ass I know but for whatever it's worth Pipes, I love you too. And it'll never be enough.

/

The phone rings just as the man returns with his meatball sub purchased from the deli down at the corner, and climbs into the black Nissan, parked across the street from my building. By my estimation, I have about twenty minutes when this detail leaves, and then another half hour before the night shift assholes take its place. They are annoying, but predictable.

I reach for the phone, my eye still on car, and swipe the screen to "answer".

"Hell-?" I'm cut off by a cool, mechanical voice over the line.

"An inmate from Litchfield federal prison is attempting to contact you. To accept this call, please press 1."

My finger hovers over the keypad for a moment. Shaking my head, I tap number 1.

"Hey Pipes."

"Alex. How are you?" she sounds a million miles away, and I don't mean physically. The walls are up, but then again, so are mine.

"I'm fine," I lie smoothly, or so I think. "A little bored but I'll live. You?"

"I'm okay. Same old, same old." I guess I'm not the only one lying today. Does she see straight through my bullshit as easily as I see through hers? Probably. So instead of calling her on it, I say,

"I hope you're not picking fights Pipes. Especially now that I'm not there to sneak you corn bread."

It's supposed to be a joke but the line crackles a little with tension. I can just about imagine the look on her face, the look of self righteous betrayal because I'm out and she's not. Because I put her in there in the first place. I lean my head against the wall, one eye peeking out at the street.

"Sorry, I didn't mean it like that. So how are you really?"

"I'm fine, really. You haven't visited in a while." The way she says it isn't out of longing; she hurls it at me like an accusation. Because I've stopped showing up to visitation. My back is up immediately.

"Yeah, me too. But it's not like I'm having a blast here Piper, Kubra's men have me under constant surveillance." The silence that follows this is heavy, laden with further accusations and maybe the weight of my own conscience, since I have been leaving my building and coming back, unnoticed, for almost a week now. That's what you get when you observe and plan. Piper knows this. She's seen me working many times.

"Right. I didn't mean it like that. I … I just miss you."

"I miss you, too." Before I can stop myself, I say, "Maybe I'll come this Saturday, yeah?"

"Mmhmm."

"Look, just focus on finishing up in there, and when you come out, everything will be fine." I try to make my voice soothing, and reassuring. There was a time when Piper would have believed that, a brief period when she trusted me.

Not anymore, apparently.

"Yeah, okay. Uh, I have to go now, there's a line forming. Alex?"

"Hm?"

"Stay safe."

"You, too Pipes." And she hangs up. The closest we'll ever come to saying I love you again.


End file.
